


Take Off His Night

by night_reveals



Category: Cape Wrath | Meadowlands, Inception (2010)
Genre: Dark, M/M, Physical Abuse, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-24
Updated: 2012-08-24
Packaged: 2017-11-12 19:03:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/494637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/night_reveals/pseuds/night_reveals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur meets Jack on an empty street, when the sun is just rising in the sky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Off His Night

**Author's Note:**

> From the Inception kink meme circa June, 2011. Prompt:
> 
> _Jack Donnelly gets off on his partner's fear (during sex or otherwise) & is played by Tom here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qLfHOGTMLUg._
> 
> _Arthur is walking home from a friend's house. Jack rapes him OR coerces him heavily into sex. In the show Jack could be flirty and fun, a good conversationalist, but always had a very obvious dark center. I don't mind if author anon makes Jack merely manipulative or showcases his physical domination, or some combination of the two._
> 
> I have specifically chosen "not to use archive warnings" because I do not feel they fit the story: instead, please read prompt and content notes (both above) to determine whether to go on or not. 
> 
> NOTE: This story stops short of the actual rape scene.

“Bloody fools,” comes a voice through the morning gloom.

Arthur ducks when he hears it, going from the side of the street into the bushes to hide, branches scratching on his naked chest. He, Greg and Ovie had just finished a late-night dip in the local pool, and Arthur forgot his shirt. The man who Arthur heard sounds drunk, shouting at his "mates” to go on without him.

“Fuckin’...”

The guy stops by the side of the road as his friends peel away in their car, and Arthur sees he is dirty-blond, taller than Arthur, and built. Arthur shivers, knowing he is concealed in the bushes but still scared for some nameless reason.

It seems a portent when the man’s eyes catch on the small signs Arthur gave of his presence: smashed branches, footsteps into the vegetation, the slightest rustle of the underbrush.

“‘ello?” asks the man. “‘ello? M’name’s Jack, whoever you are. Why don’t you come out’n talk to me?”

Arthur clenches his towel harder and ducks deeper down. He wants to go further back into the forest but he’ll make noise, then, and the man -- Jack -- would know for sure someone was in the depths.

Silence seems to anger the man.

“Now, this isn’t proper of you,” he says, almost growling. “I introduced myself, and it’s your turn. I’mma come get you if I have to.”

Arthur weighs his choices: he is shirtless with only a towel for modesty, his nipples peaking in the cool of the air, and his hair is still wet with chlorinated water, dragging into his face. But he doesn't want to be chased. The towel he wraps around his shoulders, trying to cover himself, and then he takes a big breath.

“I’m -- I’m Arthur,” he says, too-loud.

The man’s eyes are slow to focus but eventually find Arthur’s face in the bushes.

“Come out of there,” he orders, gesturing with a hand.

The brambles of the bush he’s in catch at Arthur’s legs as he extricates himself, bouncing from foot to foot so as to get out. For some reason he thinks that not looking at Jack’s face will make the man disappear, so as he walks closer he looks at Jack’s clothes, a black t-shirt and dark jeans, black boots below that. Finally Arthur forces himself to look to Jack’s gaze only to discover that Jack is staring at his naked chest, the sides of the towel not meeting enough to cover all his skin.

“Wet towel, hmm?” Jack asks, never taking his eyes away, his fingers twitching at his side.

“Yeah, I was swimming at my friend’s house. He’s just down the road,” says Arthur, almost stammering. Greg lived a twenty-minute walk from where they stood, but no reason for him to tell this man that, not when his heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest.

“Give it here,” orders Jack, extending his hand.

“I -- what?” Arthur tightens the towel around himself and looks down the deserted street, helpless. It is so early the sun has only just started to kiss the tops of the trees; they are alone.

“The towel, give it here,” repeats Jack, taking another step forward. Arthur can feel the heat from his body in the cool morning, and he looks over Jack’s shoulder, his eyes bright and wild with fear. There is no way to move around him. Arthur drags the towel from his shoulders, its wet weight clinging to him the whole way before he hands it over. “There’s a good lad. Not so hard now, was it?”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Arthur looks up to Jack’s face only a foot or so away.

“I have to get home, now,” he says, and he means it to be demanding but it sounds insubstantial, like he’s asking permission from this man to leave.

“You do?” asks Jack, eyes roving over Arthur again. “But look at how you’re walking around, kid. Just look at you. Where’s your shirt?”

Arthur swallows and averts his head when Jack takes one last step towards him, coming close enough Arthur can feel breath on his cheek.

“You should be wearing a shirt,” says Jack, trailing a single finger over Arthur’s crossed arms. “Men like me will get the wrong idea, you showing off like this.”

Arthur shivers and presses his arms against his chest, trying to take up as little space as possible as Jack begins to pet his arms, his chest. He finds a nipple and pushes it, almost soft.

“I don’t -- don’t want this,” Arthur says, finally finding the courage to yank his arms away and step back, glaring.

But the next second he’s howling when his hair is in a firm grip and twisted, Jack wrenching his head back, holding his wrists in one hand.

“Don’t tell me what you don’t want,” he says into Arthur’s ear, sweet as home-made pie. “I know what you want.”

Arthur lets out a single sob when Jack releases him.

“Hold my hand, Arthur.” Jack holds out his hand and smiles, full lip quirking up.

Arthur thinks this man could be beautiful if -- if only. As it is, he is the ugliest man Arthur has ever seen.

“I don’t -- I don’t --” There are tears gathering in the corners of Arthur’s eyes, now, as he begins to realize where this is going, how little say he actually has.

Coming closer to lean into Arthur’s space, Jack whispers, “We can hold hands on the way home, or I can drag you by your hair. It’s your choice.” Jack’s hand still hovers between them, palm up and fingers spread.

Inch-by-inch Arthur extends his own, arm heavy as lead, his fingers numb until they come into contact with Jack’s hand, when they suddenly alight with feeling. Instead of crushing his hand like Arthur expected, Jack gentles him with a sweeping thumb on his palm like a lover. He ducks in and kisses Arthur on the cheek, wetting his lips in tears Arthur didn’t realize he was crying.

“There we are.” Jack pulls back and smiles down, eyes crinkling at the corners. Arthur hiccups and wipes his face with his free hand, trying to clear his vision of the haze of tears. “Now, don’t cry,” hushes Jack, adding his hand to the endeavor. “My lad, don’t you cry. I’m goin’ to take the best care of you, if you’re good.”


End file.
